


Supernatural Shenanigans Aside

by Lissadiane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Dating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 21:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11677005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/pseuds/Lissadiane
Summary: In which Stiles Stilinski accompanies Derek Hale to the county fair to keep the citizens of Beacon Hills safe from supernatural shenanigans...Which totally isn't a date.





	Supernatural Shenanigans Aside

“This is seriously the best idea you’ve ever had,” Stiles says, cheeks puffing out with the sheer amount of cotton candy stuffed into his mouth. His eyes are wide and starry, shining in the carnival lights, and his enthusiasm doesn’t even dim when he sees Derek looking at him with something like horror.

“I’ve had better,” Derek grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders, and looking away.

Stiles knocks his shoulder into Derek’s and beams, licking the sticky candy off his lips. “Nope,” he says. “But you still haven’t told me what we’re looking for. Supernatural shenanigans? Rogue werewolves? Evil carnies?”

Derek’s cheeks flush and he says, “We could play a game? If you want?”

“Ooh, yes,” Stiles says brightly. “Acting natural. Gotcha. C’mon, big guy, I saw a booth back there with giant plush wolves, and with your skills, we can probably win a whole pack.”

Derek rolls his eyes bit gamely follows along, weaving through the crowds along the row of carnival games. Carnies call out for their attention, but Stiles isn’t going to waste his time (or money) on anything but the wolves.

It’s a perfect, warm summer evening and the carnival is only in town for three days, so it’s packed with Beacon Hills citizens. Stiles had begrudgingly accepted an invitation to attend as Scott and Kira’s reluctant third wheel, so Derek’s timely ‘are you going to the fair’ text had been most welcome. Stiles had quickly and enthusiastically told Derek that he was more than willing to ditch Scott and Kira if Derek needed some back up while staking out the carnival for something. And Derek had said ‘pick you up at 7’ and here they were. Acting all casual at the fair, while on the lookout for supernatural shenanigans. And eating cotton candy.

The game with the wolf prizes is a simple ball toss, with pyramids of milk bottles stacked up in the booth and a smarmy, greasy man offering three balls for five dollars.

It seems easy enough, and Stiles hands over five dollars and doesn’t even get a single bottle, despite a glancing blow that ought to have knocked it down. His eyes narrow and he hands over five more dollars, tries again, and then again. After losing $30, Derek growls, slaps his own five in the carney’s hand, and twenty seconds later, Stiles is clutching a massive, fluffy wolf and grinning ear to ear.

“I totally had that,” Stiles tells him, as they walk away and Derek glares at the ground. “One more shot, and those bottles were mine.”

“Sure,” Derek says, eyes rolling. Then he looks shifty and says, “There’s a Ferris wheel. Did you want to—”

“Dude, yes! A higher vantage point, perfect,” Stiles says, leading the way. Derek pays their way onto the ride, they get locked into their little car, and the ride starts with a jerk. Stiles scans the carnival from the new vantage point, searching for anything out of place, anyone in distress. It’s hard to see past the flashing lights, the moving rides all around, the crush of eager carnival-goers.

Derek is probably having an easier time with his werewolf vision, and Stiles turns away from the edge of their car to look over at him.

He blinks. They’re sitting much closer than he expected, probably because his wolf is taking up half of the car.

Derek’s watching him carefully, and as soon as Stiles makes eye contact, he jerks and looks away, scowling. “What,” he snaps.

“Uh, just wondering if you see anything?” Stiles asks. “With your…” he gestures vaguely. “Wolf vision. You know.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, Derek takes a deep breath, and then turns to look down at the ground. They’re just approaching the very top of the Ferris wheel, and Stiles frowns.

“Dude,” he says. “Are you afraid of _heights_?”

“No,” Derek says tightly. “I don’t see anything—”

“Because if you are, that’s totally understandable. I mean, sure, you’d probably heal if you fell from this high – you’ve probably fallen from higher, right? But it’s got to suck.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, sounding exasperated. He’s totally trying to play off this fear of heights thing.

“No, it’s totally cool. Everyone’s got stupid fears,” Stiles says reassuringly, sliding closer. “Did you know that Scott’s afraid of mirrors? Like, the whole Bloody Mary thing, it keeps him up at night. And me, I’m afraid of bats. Worried they’ll get tangled in my hair – there’s a reason I kept it buzzed so short for so long.”

He reaches out to lay a reassuring hand on Derek’s arm because Derek is grinding his teeth and glaring out into the middle distance over the chaotic lights of the carnival. Just as his hand makes contact, landing somewhere around Derek’s elbow, Derek snaps, “ _Stiles_ , I’m not – this is not –”

He falls silent, swallowing hard, staring down at Stiles’ hand on his arm like he doesn’t know what to do with soothing human contact.

Rather than snatching his hand away, Stiles pats him awkwardly and says, “Seriously, Derek. _Bats_.”

Derek looks up at him, seemingly at a loss, and Stiles hadn’t realized he’d slid so close – yeah, now that he thinks about it, his thigh is pressed up all along Derek’s, their shoulders nearly brushing, only a few inches separating the tip of Derek’s nose from the tip of Stiles’ nose.

Stiles swallows and licks his lips – they taste like spun sugar – and Derek’s eyes flicker down to trace the movement.

“Okay,” Derek says, voice rough, like he’s fighting back a growl. It does weird things to Stiles’ stomach, makes his heart jump a little, and he wonders if Derek can hear it.

“Okay?” Stiles asks.

“Bats,” Derek echoes. “You’re afraid of bats, I’m afraid of heights, Scott’s afraid of… whatever Scott’s afraid of.”

“Bloody Mary,” Stiles whispers, eyes wide.

“Yeah.”

For a second – a crazy, stomach-swooping, roller coaster of a second, Stiles thinks Derek is going to _kiss him_. On a Ferris Wheel. At the carnival.

And it’s going to be amazing. It’s going to taste like cotton candy. It’s going to be the fulfillment of every one of Stiles’ super secret, super infatuated fantasies that he may or may not have been harboring since he was 16.

And then the Ferris wheel jerks to a stop and somehow they’re at the bottom of it and the carney is swinging the door of the car open with a bored look on his face.

“Dude!” Stiles calls. “No! Send us up again!”

It’s too late. The carney has moved on and Derek is scrambling out of the car like a hellhound is on his tail and the moment is gone forever. If there even was a moment.

Stiles is half convinced he imagined it. He’s always had an active imagination, and nothing else makes sense.

He grabs his stuffed wolf and tumbles out of car after Derek.

He catches up to Derek just as Derek finishes purchasing a candy apple, and before Stiles can even say anything, Derek shoves it at him. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he’d think Derek is just trying to shut him up.

But it’s a candy apple, so Stiles will take it. They can make awkward small talk after he devours the amazing, candy coated goodness.

He starts licking and sucking at the candy apple, humming appreciatively, and when he looks back up at Derek, Derek is staring at him, appalled.

Stiles blinks. “Uh, want a bite?” he asks, holding the apple out, and Derek looks from the apple to Stiles’ mouth and back again, clearly appalled, horrified at the implication that he would be okay with Stiles’ germs. Stiles must _definitely_ have imagined the near kissing thing.

Shrugging, Stiles goes back to licking the apple, saying, “So, are you gonna tell me what we’re looking for, yet? See anything suspicious? Everything looks good to me –” he smiles and shrugs again and says, “I mean, not that I’m not having _fun_ , I totally am. I just—”

“You are?” Derek asks, almost hopeful. “Do you want to go on more rides? Or games? Or we could get a drink, or—”

He stops talking abruptly as Erica steps up beside him, her arm slung low around Boyd’s waist. 

“Derek,” she purrs, smirking at him, before turning to look at Stiles, her grin growing sharper. “And Stiles. I had no _idea_ Derek was bringing you here.”

“Erica,” Derek growls.

Stiles takes a big bite of the apple, chewing and swallowing before saying brightly, “We’re keeping the fair safe from supernatural shenanigans.”

Erica blinks at him and then shoots Derek a look. “Supernatural shenanigans?” she echoes, laughing. “You didn’t tell him?”

“ _Erica_ ,” Derek snaps.

“Tell me what? Did you guys find something? Any idea what we’re hunting for? Derek hasn’t told me a _thing_. I’m half worried it’s going to be psychotic clowns or something, that would be the _worst_.” He sucks the last bit of candy from the stick and licks at his sticky lips.

“Oh, Derek,” Erica says, shaking her head, still laughing.

“I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” Derek says darkly, glaring at Boyd.

“Uh, yeah,” Boyd says with a nod and a grin. “We do, Erica. We’ll, uh. Check for bad guys over there. On the other side of the fair. Near the roller coasters. Okay?”

They stumble off together, Erica laughing and demanding a candy apple of her own, and Derek glaring after them. Stiles is too distracted trying to suck the candy off his fingers to care too much.

“Ooh,” Stiles says, fingers finally less sticky, as he brightening up even more. “We haven’t checked out the _haunted house_. If I was committing supernatural shenanigans, I’d totally do it at the haunted house, it’s a _classic_.”

“Stiles, wait,” Derek says, but Stiles can see the flashing sign of the haunted house in the distance, and he darts through the crowd, leading the way.

It’s a tall, dark, monstrous looking building, complete with canned horror music, the distance sound of pre-recorded and spontaneous screams, hissing hydraulics and talc-scented smoke wafting from the door.

“There isn’t anything supernatural here,” Derek says, coming to a stop beside him. “That’s not—”

“No, dude, that’s totally suspicious,” Stiles declares, eyes narrowing as he studies a pair of teenaged girls who come stumbling out of the rotating tube at the end of the house. They’re giggling dreamily, eyes glazed, clinging to each other to stay standing, and sure, they could have just smoked up. But Stiles’ supernatural spidey senses are tingling.

“We’ve got to go in here and check it out,” he declares, and Derek sighs and pays the carney their tickets.

“There will probably be bats,” he grumbles, following Stiles into the darkness.

“Animatronic ones,” Stiles says.

“If you’re lucky.”

And then Stiles in enveloped in pitch darkness and wishing he had night vision like Derek does. He stumbles forward, hands out in front of him, searching for a door, and runs into a wall instead.

“Here,” Derek says, taking his hand. He sounds exasperated, but maybe a little fond, too, and Stiles doesn’t dwell too much on the sugary sensation in his stomach that comes from Derek’s hand in his hand. It’s probably just a sugar rush from the candy apple he’d finished.

Derek tugs him through a doorway, and there’s a puff of cool air in his face, and then an animated skeleton pops up out of nowhere with a scream.

Stiles doesn’t shriek, but it’s a near thing. He jumps towards Derek, hitting his back, and twisting his free hand in the back of Derek’s sweater, his stuffed wolf pinned between them.

“This was a bad idea,” Stiles hisses.

“C’mon. You’re fine,” Derek says, skirting around the skeleton, ignoring a giant animatronic spider, and ducking through another door. This room is set up like a torture chamber, and a strobe light is flashing somewhere, making the thrashing body on the table even more horrific. There are blood stains on the floor, piles of stuff that look like flesh in the corners, chains hanging from the roof, and a mad scientist twisting around in the middle of the room and cackling.

They hurry through that room and Stiles is practically climbing Derek like a tree.

“I regret everything,” he says, and Derek _laughs_.

“You can face all the shit we deal with, but animatronics freak you out?”

“Shut up,” Stiles grumbles, and then they’re in a black lit forest with thick smoke, and somewhere, a wolf is howling. He starts to laugh. “Aw, shit, Derek,” he says. “ _Werewolves_.”

He trips over his own feet as they make their way through the trees, losing his grip on Derek’s hand as they make their way into a dark room, full of mirrors. He yelps and reaches out blindly, grabbing his hand again and shivering.

“It’s _cold_ in this room,” he says, and then Derek tugs him to the side, along the wall, and they slip through a door hidden there, and they’re in a tiny office, lit by a lava lamp.

And Derek isn’t there at all. Instead, he’s holding a tall, slender, pale stranger’s hand – a stranger with fangs and eyes like a creature of the night.

Stiles yelps and snatches his hand back and says, “I am so sure Derek promised me vampires weren’t a real thing!”

The vampire grins, all teeth, and says, “Wolves are notoriously stupid. All brawn, no brains. Aren’t you a pretty one.”

“Uh, no,” Stiles tells him, glancing around the little office. “And as much as I am enjoying the clichéd villain banter, and as horrific as the decorating in this room is, I’m pretty sure it’s not actually part of the haunted house tour, so I’m just gonna…”

He edges towards the door, all casual, and the vampire rolls his eyes. He drifts closer and says, “Nah, you don’t really want to go, do you? You just got here.”

And Stiles _does_ want to go, because he’d much rather be wandering around the fair with Derek buying him all sorts of tasty treats and then staring in horror as he enjoys them. Vampires who look like LeStat throwbacks aren’t really doing it for him, and this dude is far too pale, far too tall, far too skinny for Stiles’ taste – not to mention, vampire fangs aren’t half as sexy as werewolf fangs, and the guy still has his eyebrows, which is just altogether less attractive than it should be.

“Listen,” Stiles says, still going for polite. “I appreciate the offer, and normally I’d totally be onboard with a behind-the-scenes look at the life of a supernatural carney, but vampires just aren’t my thing. I’m totally team Jacob – werewolves all the way. So if you just—”

“Mmm,” says the vampire. “Yes. I can smell dog all over you.” He wrinkles his nose. “But…” The vampire pauses for effect. “I want to suck your blood.”

Stiles sputters. It’s too cliché – it’s ridiculous. He opens his mouth to echo the words in his best Transylvanian accent, but then his eyes meet the vampire’s swirling brown ones, and it’s like the world tips off its axis.

He loses his balance, his grip on reality, loses himself in the vampire’s eyes, and all of a sudden, the vampire is looking a whole lot more attractive, the light of the lava lamp is doing amazing things for his cheekbones, and Stiles feels himself melting into the idea of letting this vampire suck his blood.

“Oh,” Stiles says dreamily. “Okay.”

The vampire’s cold fingers coax his head back, tipping it to the side and baring his throat, and Stiles closes his eyes, shivering.

“This is totally hot,” he murmurs, except it’s kind of cold. The vampire’s hands are cold on his jaw, at the base of his neck. The vampire’s mouth is cold, pressed against his skin, just above his jugular. His tongue is cold, licking a line up his neck.

And then there is burning heat when his fangs pierce Stiles’ skin.

His eyes fly open and he screams.

The door bursts inwards with a shower of broken mirrors, shards of splintered door, and 200 pounds of furious, fully shifted werewolf. 

“Ow, _ow_ , motherfucker,” Stiles yelps, staggering backwards with one hand clapped over his bleeding neck. He hits a wall and slides to the ground just as the lava lamp falls over and cracks on the floor, casting the room in darkness.

His hand is slick with what must be blood, he’s covered in it, and he starts to panic, which is probably for the best. He can barely hear the sounds of Derek tearing the vampire apart over the pounding of his own heart.

It feels like hours but also not long at all before Derek is in front of him, covered in bits of vampire and blood, his eyes wide and panicky.

“Stiles,” he says, eyes glowing red in the dark. “You’re okay, you’re fine. Fuck, you’re bleeding.”

“I got bit,” Stiles says shrilly. “By a vampire! You said there was no such thing!”

“We need to get out of here,” Derek growls. “You probably need a hospital.”

Derek helps him to his feet, rescues the stuffed wolf that had fallen to the ground in the fight, and leads him through the mirror maze with ease.

Outside, he pulls Stiles around to the back of the haunted house where it’s dark and quieter, and then, in the distant glow of a streetlight, pulls Stiles’ hand away to inspect the damage.

“I’m gonna faint,” Stiles moans, closing his eyes. “Blood loss. I can’t breathe.”

Derek is quiet for a moment, one hand carefully cradling Stiles’ jaw, the other hand probing at his neck. “Stiles,” he says, sounding exhausted, relieved, irritated all at once. “It’s just a scratch.”

Stiles’ eyes fly open. “No, dude, he totally bit me. I’m going to turn into a vampire or die of blood loss – I’m covered in blood!”

Derek sniffs at the liquid on his fingers cautiously and makes a face. “I think it’s the stuff from inside the lava lamp? You’re barely bleeding.”

Looking down at his shirt, which is damp, Stiles sees that it’s _not_ blood after all. At least he won’t need to go to the hospital.

He huffs a little. “It hurt,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “You could have warned me there were vampires!”

“I didn’t know,” Derek says, exhausted. He lets go of Stiles and steps back. “We weren’t – this wasn’t a stake out. Well, it wasn’t meant to be.”

Stiles frowns. “What was it meant to be?”

And then Erica and Boyd are skidding around the haunted house, eyes flashing gold, mouths filled with fangs. 

“Derek!” she calls, as they slide to a stop beside him. “What’s happening? We heard the fight – everything smells like blood. And is that…” She looks at Stiles uncertainly. “Lava lamp?”

“Vampire,” Derek says tersely. “It doesn’t matter. It’s dead.”

She looks at Stiles again and then Derek and says slowly, “You guys sure know how to have an interesting first date.”

Instantly flushing, Stiles stammers, “It’s not a date – why would you think – we’re _protecting the citizens of Beacon Hills_ , Erica! We’re not on a _date_. Derek would never—”

And then he trails off, uncertain, because Derek won’t look at him – looks like he’d rather be anywhere but there with him – and Stiles suddenly isn’t sure. They _are_ on a stake out, protecting the town from vampires, aren’t they?

Except Derek isn’t denying the date thing. And, if Stiles looks at it objectively, with the cotton candy and the candy apple and the Ferris wheel and the game and the stuffed wolf – okay, maybe it looks like a date. Except for the vampire. Which Derek seemed pretty startled about. Like he hadn’t expected to run into any sort of supernatural shenanigan at all.

Like maybe it was actually a date.

“Derek,” Stiles says, and Derek shoves his hands in his jacket and scowls.

“We should go,” he says. “Threat’s gone. I’ll drive you home.”

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles says shrilly. “Is this a _date_?”

“No,” Derek says quickly.

“Of course it is,” Erica tells him, rolling her eyes. “Derek stressed out about asking you for a week.”

Stiles stares at him. His eyes are wide, he’s still struggling to breathe, his neck is stinging, and suddenly the world makes even less sense than when he found out vampires were a thing.

He looks down at himself, dripping with lava lamp goo, and looks over at Derek, dripping with vampire goo, and says, uncertain, “If this is a date, Derek, you should kiss me and prove it.”

And Derek looks, for a moment, like he’s going to roll his eyes or say something sarcastic, but he hesitates, and maybe he sees some of the hope and terror on Stiles’ face, because he steps closer instead.

He jerks Stiles against his chest with one hand twisted in the front of his greasy, wet shirt, and then Derek is kissing him, a hot, sweet kiss that tastes like cotton candy melting on his tongue.

A helpless sound catches in the back of Stiles’ throat and Derek takes the opportunity to lick his way into Stiles’ mouth, dragging his tongue and his teeth over Stiles’ bottom lip, and it’s like Derek has realized that he was a little vague when he asked Stiles on a date, so he’s going to make sure there’s no mistaking it this time.

When Derek pulls away, Stiles staggers a step after him, because his knees are weak and his hands are fisted in Derek’s shirt. It takes a moment for his head to clear.

“Uh,” Stiles says, licking his lips, staring at Derek’s mouth. “Yeah. Okay. Date.”

Derek smiles a little, a touch shy, and says, “If you want to.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, nodding. “Yes. Yeah. Totally on board with a date. Dates. Dating. All of the above.”

“Right. Well. We should probably clean up the dead vampire,” Erica says, rolling her eyes. “And then you should shower. And then you can…” she waves a hand. “Continue your date. Or get a room. Or whatever.”

Stiles beams at Derek. “Next date, let’s try to keep the supernatural shenanigans down to a minimum,” he says, and Derek hums in agreement, pulls him close, and kisses him again.

As far as first dates go, Stiles is willing to count this one as a win, near death episode aside.

The End.


End file.
